I'll Read Your Coffee Beans
by mermaidpotato
Summary: A mundane little twoshot about what everyone knows-even the girl that works the odd-hour shifts at Starbucks.
1. Mystery Writer

A/N: I'm sure, just because of the fandom, this would probably actually get reviews if it weren't like, 600 words long. Ah well. What most people would call a 'drabble', just a little thought that was brewing in my head that I was only going to write a 100 word drabble on until I realized that I'm the only one that actually likes them. So I let the idea expand a little. Based vaguely on something that an 'efie214' wrote as part of the 1sentence community on lj (I don't actually have an lj, I just like to look for inspiration there) that my mind just wanted to run with. Since I've never really read a whole lot in the fandom, this has probably been done a zillion times before.

Also, I don't know why I wrote this in present tense. I've never done that before. It just felt right. I apologize for any inconsistencies. Quick and un-betaed. Oh, and the coffee girl is based on no one in particular.

Disclaimer: I don't know exactly who writes Castle, but it's not me. In fact, it's not likely I'll ever write Castle fanfiction again; while I love the show, I don't think I have the writing style necessary to pull it off. But I suppose my inspiration has been doing strange things; who knows?

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><p>"Every time I see you," the round-faced, dark-skinned midget of a barista begins by way of greeting as she goes to make the familiar blends, not even asking what he wants, "you come in here and order two coffees. The same two. I know you don't drink both of them-no one in their right mind would ever let such a kid have that much caffeine-so who's the other one for?"<p>

He's only just barely settled himself at the counter when she finishes her speech, looking at him expectantly, and he thinks that his earlier inklings were right, even if he's never talked to the girl much. She's a lot like Lanie. Younger, definitely, and probably even nosier, if the blasé intrusion into a practical stranger's private life is any indication, but with the same air of 'we don't take your nonsense here.' He could just refuse to answer, and it's a fact he knows well, but he never was one to outright deny to answer a question. If anything, he'll take it with a smile and a witty retort so obvious that, if he's lucky, they won't ask again.

"I work with someone. She does all the hard work for me, really, and pretty much just lets me along for the ride. I figure it's worth spending a few dollars on coffee everyday to stay in her good graces."

"And you're sure," the inquisitive girl continues, setting the first of two finished coffees on the counter, "that there isn't any other reason you want to stay in her 'good graces'?"

"You've never even seen me with her. Heck, you've probably never even seen her. I know for a fact that I've never even mentioned her name to you before. What makes you think that she's anything but a coffee-starved coworker?"

"Because I see the look in your eye when you come in and ask for two coffees."

"I'm a mystery writer who gets to work murder cases, and only the weird ones. That's enough to make me a kid in a candy store!" His words are probably a bit too loud, because he can see, out of his peripheral vision, the heads of sleep-addled nine-to-fivers turning a little to either glare or leer at him.

Apparently, he's made enough of his point, because with the inconspicuous black sharpie that rests forever beside the coffee maker, she emblazons 'Castle' on the side of the coffee in her hand. He takes it from her and moves to grab Kate's coffee as well, but the snaky, somewhat bored barista snatches it away before he can get his hand around it. A smug smirk on her face, she carefully writes something on the coffee cup before handing it to him, letters intentionally facing away from him. He quickly turns it around to read, not amused.

"Mystery girl? Is this your idea of a joke, Castle?" Kate raises one eyebrow at him when she finally notices the unexpected addition.

"No, you can give the credit for that lovely piece of craftsmanship to my friendly neighborhood Starbucks." He smiles with the delivery, trying to cover up his irritation. Beckett doesn't have to know the full story behind the two words sharpied onto the side of her cup.

Mostly, though, he's confused. If it's apparently so obvious that even a stranger can figure it out without having so much as seen the pair together, then why has Beckett never said anything?


	2. Mystery Girl

A/N: Guess who's been watching way too much Castle! Finally, a sequel (not as shippy as the other one for whatever reason, but I still like it)! And I'm sorry it took so long. Thanks to everyone who reviewed asking for a sequel and to the two lovely people who so kindly informed me that Beckett gave Castle coffee in 3XK. It turned out that it wasn't really what I was looking for, but I'm still extremely grateful. (I'm also rather sorry to say that I lost both of your names. ^^; If either of you read this, then a friendly reminder would be much appreciated so I can properly thank you.)

Disclaimer: Yeah, still don't own Castle. Kinda glad I don't, actually, because I would be _so_ afraid of fumbling it at this point. Snarky-short-black-nameless-takes-no-crap-woman _is_ mine, but she can totes be a Jenny Everywhere if someone else wants her. XD Not that I think anyone will.

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><p>The bell above the door to the coffee shop rings in a little, tinkling "hello", and it's a noise that would probably be annoying to most of the shop's patrons if it didn't herald sweet, caffeine-packed, life-giving coffee.<p>

Kate lets the door shut behind her but lingers just inside the building's warmth for a moment, a ridiculous, indulgent smile lighting up and softening the exacting angles of her face. A familiar voice crackles animatedly in her ear, a bit distorted by the phone line, but still unmistakeably its owner's. "Look, Castle, that's utterly fascinating, but I'll be there in a minute. It's late, and I'm not showing up this tired without coffee in hand... wait, there's a _what_? Okay, okay. I'm sure Lanie, Esposito, and Ryan have it under control. Just learn as much as you can so you can brief me when I get there. All right?"

Hoping that he'll actually allow her to get her coffee and get down there (because that's really where she wants to be, late hour and annoyingly overzealous partner aside, not hearing about it over the phone), she slowly starts to walk up to the counter. Just as she's about to hedge a final goodbye in and cut him off, something shiny must catch his eye, because he suddenly announces "Uup, gotta go. Bye!" and the call cuts off in her ear.

She's not sure whether he's being annoying, endearing, or something else entirely, so she just chalks it up under "things Castle does" with a crisp snap of the phone and finally closes the distance between herself and the counter. She can't help the laugh that falls out of her (the one that sounds suspiciously like his name), and it's this nearly-silent laugh that catches the barista's attention.

"Hello there, ma'am. What can I get for you tonight?"

"Good evening. I want one grande latte—two pumps of vanilla, no sugar—and one grande coffee—one cream, two sugars." Smiling only a little falsely at the short, black woman, Beckett steps over a few feet towards the register and begins to pull her wallet out of her pocket. The barista, on the other hand, isn't quite ready to let her go. As she grabs two cups from the stacks, there is a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Did I hear you talking to a 'Castle' on the phone?"

Beckett looks up, a little surprised at the human interaction. "Uh, yeah. You did. He's my... partner at work. Heading over there right now, and he was just letting me know what I missed."

"Mr. Castle comes in here a lot. You two do work rather odd hours."

"Well, I am a cop. We can work fairly godawful hours." Beckett feels the conversation chafe a little bit, like it's not quite what it seems, or like she's being slowly, casually cornered. She wants an excuse to cut it off, but the woman is indeed making their drinks at a fairly reasonable speed, so until she's done, there is no immediate escape for her.

"They let Castle be a cop?"

Beckett laughs a little, a quiet, barely amused laugh, but a real one, and she relaxes infinitesimally. It's something small to have in common, this picture of the fragmented person Castle is, and the way the woman says it—amused, bemused, doubtful, and just a little bit afraid—says that she _does_ know. Or maybe it's so simple as the way she says his name, casual once she's dropped the 'Mr.' One way or another, the Castle in her head and in her voice isn't the same Richard Castle they talk about in the news, and the secret connection makes it feel a little less like she's being cornered and a little more like she's being approached. Appraised, she thinks, though for what she has no idea.

"Thankfully, no. Castle is a civilian contractor, essentially."

"I thought he was just kidding about the murder cases. Does make a little more sense, now." She caps one cup, picking up her faithful marker, and writes 'Castle' along it, just as she has a hundred times before. She sets it down and then caps the other one, contemplating it. "Would you be so kind as to tell me your name? I've been wondering for a while now, Miss two-pumps-of-vanilla-no-sugar."

Her marker is poised, and Beckett isn't sure how the girl burrowed her way into their collective lives so quickly. She feels like a big moment is waiting to happen, on bated breath along with the black sharpie, though it might not be a big moment in her life and she isn't sure whose it would be. After a moment, she simply answers "Beckett. Detective Kate Beckett," like she ever would, and the marker squeaks as it transcribes the nine-letter title and seven-letter name. The barista smiles her own handiwork, the extra five letters having filled in all of the holes she'd been wondering over. With something of a flourish, she hands it over.

"I think I met your 'friendly neighborhood Starbucks'," Beckett will tell Castle later, in a lull in their ongoing battle of wits. "I believe I've also been christened: I am 'Mystery Girl' no longer."


End file.
